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THE SEA SHELLS, 



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BY THOMAS FISHER. 



OP ^c.,»/-; 



PHILADELPHIA: 

PRINTED BY JOHN G. ROBB. 
1850. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in tlie year 1850, by 

THOMAS FISHER, 

in the Clerk's Office of tlic District Court of the Eastern 

District of Pennsylvania. 



John C. Bobb FriDtor, No. £ Fcai Street, Philadelphia 



THE PIVOT STAE. 



" He stretcheth out the North over the empty place, and hangeth the 
Earth upon nothing-." — Job. 26, 7. 

"The skies are painted with a thousand sparks; they all are fire, and 
every one doth shine ; yet there's but one in all doth hold his place." — 
Shakspeare, Julius C/esar, Act I, Scene 3. 

" Strong as the axlctree on which Heaven rides," — Shakspeare, Troilus 
and Cressida, Act 1, Scene 3, 



Balanced in far empyrean space, 

Where science strains its utmost ken, 
Tlie anchors of tliy mooring place. 
Confound tlie proudest lore of men. 
Wliy is't where'er om' planet rolls, 
It spins on thee its whirling poles? 



THE PIVOT STAR, 



Wliile swiftly round the orb of Day, 
Our liome terrestrial wheels its way, 
Half bright in day and summer hght, 

The etei'nal, changeful seasons turn, 
Half dark in shade and winter night 

The varying landscapes freeze and burn. 

Moor'd in illimitable space. 
Thy radiance has no restmg place: 
Yet still where'er om- planet rolls 
It points to thee its whirling poles, 
And still round thee, the pivot-star, 
Heaven's spangled concave fades afar. 

Fast-anchor'd beacon in the ethereal deep. 
Thou seeirUst the axle w^hence heaven's hinges sweep. 
When the fierce tempests lash the midnight sea. 
The ocean rover turns in hope to thee. 
From age to age athwart the trackless wave, 
Thou art the Pole-star of the homeless brave. 



THE SONG OF THE SEA SHELLS. 



Where the water plants Tbloom in the fathomless ocean, 
O'er regions more wide than the verdure of earth, 

Deep down 'neath the broad waves' far-heaving commotion. 
Kind nature allotted the scenes of our birth. 

"Where'er the blue billow in boundlessness rolls, 
Or the moon-lifted tide-swell is pauselessly piling. 

From the Icebergs that gleam on the star-lighted poles, 
To the glad Isles of Atlas, perennially smiling 

'Neath the path of the Sun, where the coral-rock grows. 

And the last weary surge of the trade-winds repose ; 
There our tribes are all dwelling in gladness and pride 
Mid the pastures of ocean, untraversed and wide, 
In numbers computeless, and colors that vie 
With the blossoms of earth, and the lights of the sky. 

Where the frost-night of winter encrystals the wave. 

Where the blazing sun sinks 'mid the flush'd ocean's smiles. 

Where the grampus or dolphin have found them a grave 
'Neath the poles' icy cliffs, or the palm-shaded isles; 

5 



6 THE SONG OF THE SEA SHELLS. 

Where tlie pearls of the Orient, in loveliness sleep, 

And earth's richest treasures and men's bleaching bones 
Are scattered abroad on the plains of the deep, 

Neglected, unprized as the beach-weather'd stones, 
"Where the brass-sculptured galleys the Argonauts bore. 

Still curve their bold prows half-interr'd in the sand; 
The fleets which have sunk 'neath Charybdis' roar, 
And the time-wasted wreck-ribs of every shore. 
Which ocean's old rovers have left on the strand ; 
There our kindred are sporting in joy and in pride, 
O'er the pastures of Ocean, so fertile and wide, 
In numbers computeless, and colors that vie 
With the gems of the earth, and the lights of the sky. 



Where the canvass of commerce has courted the breeze. 

And gallant ships, gay as the clouds of the hour. 
Have swept o'er the mountain-wave-waste of the seas, 

While traffic-built cities grew peerless in power — 
Where the fleets of dead empires have crowded the wave. 

And navies have reel'd to the cannon's deep roar, 
To swell in proud annals the fame of the brave, 

On the archives of ages, whose glories are o'er — 
Where the nautilus lifts his light sail to the breeze, 

Where the mariner sings to the sky-circled wave, 
By the rock-shelter'd inlets and isles of the seas. 

Where the far-fabled syrens enchanted the brave — 



THE SONG OP THE SEA SHELLS. 7 

There our tribes are all dwelling in gladness and pride 

'Mid the pastures of ocean, so fertile and wide, 

In numbers computeless, and colors that vie 

With the blossoms of earth, and the lights of the sky. 

Where'er the wide azure its barriers laves, 

Where the surf of the summer breeze playfully roars, 
Or the far-heaving surge of the storm-fretted waves 

Drifts up ocean's relics on earth's furthest shores — 
There, while glad sun light fades o'er the ocean's white foam, 

And the cool breeze of evening blows fresh on the strand, 
The blithe sea-boy, sadd'ning in the thought of his home. 

Is gath'ring gay shells from the billowy sand, 
While he grieves o'er the hard fate which dooms him to roam, 

And visits, in visions, his love-lighted land — 

He shall bear them away from the scenes of our birth. 
And bright eyes shall value his far-gather'd shells. 

They shall haply be group'd o'er some bright-glowing hearth, 
Where affection has woven her home-nurtur'd spells, 

Where kindness still welcomes the wand'rer of earth. 
And his heart's fondest day-dream of happiness dwells. 



THE SNOW BIRD. 



This well-known species, {the FringiJIa Nivalis of Wilson,) is by 
far the most numerous of all the feathered tribes that visit us in 
winter, from the frozen regions of the North. Its migrations and 
summer nestling places extend from the mountain summits of the 
Alleghanies, to the Arctic circle, and probably beyond it. Its 
winter quarters are the whole Atlantic breadth of the United 
States, from Maine to Louisiana. How a bird scarcely larger 
than your thumb can exist and flourish in the severest frosts and 
storms, during a cold winter, is a miracle in animal chemistry. 



Bold-liearted hird! wliose tiny form 
Heralds tlie bleak and howling storm — 
Wlien winter, from Ms icy throne, 

Lets loose tlie whiiiwinds of liis power, 
And, o'er our habitable zone. 

Triumphs the despot of the hour. 
Brave-hearted bhd! why come ye here, 
At this cold season of the year? 



THE SNOW BIRD. 



Those flights of STnnnier bu'ds, so gay, 
All left us — witli tlie summer flowers — 

Flew to the sunny South away, 

Where the perennial Palm-tree towers. 
Warm-hearted bird! why stay ye here, 
At this bleak season of the year? 
How can so slight and frail a form 
Survive the frost, and sleet, and storm ? 
And pray, what do you get to eat? 
Where do you warm your little feet? 

Stranger! my native summer home 

Is buried in the arctic night ; 
Resistless instinct bade me roam — 

How could I Hve without the light? 
Sunhght has almost ceased to glow 

Upon our mountains at the North; 
Stern famine, in his robe of snow, 

Has driven all our Mndi^ed forth. 

Our fathers loved your homestead glen, 

In time of snow, 
And sheltered in your ivy then. 

Long time ago. 



10 THE SNOW BIRD. 

We've come, to spend our winter hours, 

While storm-winds blow; 
We'll glean the seeds of summer flowers, 

Above the snow. 
Seeds are about the stack-yard floor. 
And crumbs before the cottage door ; 
Natm^e provides an ample store 

For bu'ds and men : 
There's food for all of us, and more — 

We'll come again. 

We've taken quarters here till spring — 

'Till then we'll stay; 
But, soon as birds begin to sing. 

We'll fly away ! 
Gay biids will nestle in your bowel's. 
And carol o'er your summer flowers. 
But other destinies are om-s ; 

We can not stay. 

Oft as the measured zodiacs run. 
That lean om' forests to the sun ; 
When summer's brightest, highest noon. 



THE SNOW BIRD. H 

Melts back tlie arctic waste of snow, 
And all tlie lovely flowers of June 

Wide o'er tlie Northern landscapes blow, 
Once more, beside tlie mountain rills. 

We'll meet our loves. 
As liappy, on our native Mils, 

As turtle doves. 

But, when again the sun sinks low. 
And winter wreaths those hills with snow — 
When the wild snow-blast drives us forth, 
We'll gladly leave the desert north. 

We'll come again : — 
Our fathers loved your homestead glen. 

Long time ago ; 
And infants smiled, and gray-haired men, 
To greet the snow-bird once again, 

In time of snow. 



FEEUET EUCH DES LEBENS. 

IMITATED FEOM THE GERMAN. 

Rejoice in life, ye living, 

E'en let tlie lamp be bright, 

Ere yet its flame may flicker. 
And vanisli from your sigbt. 

Rejoice in life, ye living, 
Wbile yet its roses bloom. 

Ere time, tbe sad despoiler, 
Sball call yon to tbe tomb. 

Give not to sordid troubles 
Your few and precious hours. 

Leave not for empty bubbles 
Tbe vale of violet flowers. 

Content yom-selves ye living, 

Sharers of humble fame, 
And be not prompt to envy 

The magic of a name. 



12 



FREUETEUCHDES LEBENS. 13 

Content yom^selves ye living, 

The boon your toil bestows, 
Amid Ms cares and pride, 

Ambition never knows. 

Rejoice in life, ye li\'ing. 

Your breasts may lieave with woe, 
But friendship's joys are dearest, 

Wlien tears most freely flow. 

Console yourselves, ye living. 

Life has its grief and joy, 
Lend not to trifle's power 

Your calmness to destroy. 

The landscape after storms. 

Is loveher than before, 
E'en sorrow heightens joy. 

When transient ills are o'er. 

Eejoice in life, ye H\dng, 

Bound to a better land, 
And meet your fellow pilgrims. 

With open heart and hand. 



THE CONDOR OP THE ANDES. 



The Condor, (^Sarcorainjilius Gryjiluis of Grcuj) is by far the 
largest of the Vultures. 

It inhabits the vast chain of the Andes from the Straits of Ma- 
gellan, throughout the entire length of the continent of South 
America, and thence by the Isthmus of Panama and Mexico to 
California and Oregon, the south-western territories of the United 
States. 

The Condor was seen by Lewis and Clarke on their celebrated 
overland expedition to the Pacific, but not until after they had 
passed the great falls of the Columbia river. 

For a continuous distance of more than six thousand miles, the 
chief abode of the Condor is at an elevation of from ten thousand 
to sixteen thousand feet, on the highest and most inaccessible 
summits of the Andes, near to and above the limits of perpetual 
snow, where no other living creature can exist. In such situations, 
on the hollow ledge of some terrific precipice, it lays its eggs and 
rears its young. Its food is chiefly carrion, the carcasses of large 
animals which die on the distant plains or on the shores of the 
ocean. 



14 



THE CONDOR OF THE ANDES. 15 

Admirably adapted in size and power to tlie magnificent sce- 
nery which Nature has made its home, its flight, perhaps surpass- 
ing in endurance that of the Eagle, is at first slow, but sweeping 
in majestic circles, reaches so great an elevation that it gradually 
appears no larger than a swallow or a mere speck, and at length 
disappears entirely to the limited power of human vision ; a jour- 
ney of several hundred miles requiring but little time or exertion. 



Where Winter o'er tlie blazing zones, 

Has telegrapli'd his polar thrones, 

Where the Cordillera's glacier height, 

Reflects Aurora's earhest li^ht, 

I breath'd the pure empyrean air. 

That swept around my bii'th-place there. 

Above me was the dark-blue sky, 
Nature's ethereal canopy, 
Beneath me, the eternal snow, 
Wlience Amazon's far-streamlets flow, 
Below the smnmit of my birth, 
Far spread the fairest climes of earth. 
In boundlessness, that might defy 
Aught but a falcon's subtle eye. 



16 THE CONDOR OF THE ANDES. 

Tlience sternly from liis liome on liigli, 

Monarcli of all tlie tribes tliat ily; 
Unrivall'd o'er a wide domain, 
Of glaciers, forests, and of plain; 
My parent wlieePd liis cloudlike form. 
Like some rude fragment of a storm, 
O'er blooming eartli and glowing skies, 
Where Natm^e blends her loveliest dyes. 
To where on either hand the sea 
]\Iirroi''d his peerless majesty — 
Or stooping to the fields of earth. 
Like being of celestial birth; 

Bore tribute from the herd or flock, 
To Chimborazo's dizzy height. 

Where his own eyrie-beacon'd rock. 
Was red in evening's lingermg light. 

Ere yet my bursting plumes had gro^Ti, 
Or heaven's wide concave was my own, 
Struggling to rise above the rest 
My sportive brothers of the nest. 
That I might feast my wayward eye. 
Where earth seem'd mingling with the sky, 



THE CONDOR OF THE ANDES. 17 

I oft could mark tlie battle train 
Far gleaming on the distant plain ; 
Or when at eve we could descry, 
Pale Vesper in tlie furtlier sky, 
We knew Iberia's watcbiires' glai'e 
Illumed the far horizon there. 

Until the beauteous Queen of Mght, 
Announced her rising hour again; 
Lovely, as when the Orient streaks 
That endless chain of icy peaks, 
And wakes the mountain bii'd. 
On our own heaven-peering height. 
And o'er the sea of glaciers fell, 
A mild unearthly blaze of light, 
I saw with transports of delight, 
I felt but may not tell. 

A hunter scal'd the glacier's brow, 
And I'm a hapless captive now — 
Cruel, to bear me thus away 
From my own regions of the day ! 
My sii-es had nestled, and had flown 
Upon that lonely loftiest height. 



18 THE CONDOR OF THE ANDES. 

And all beyond had l^een their own, 
Since the deep throes of Nature hurled 
On high those summits of the world. 
There short-lived ages shed their snows, 
And there the light ethereal flows, 
In all the changes that it knows, 

Untarnish'd by the mists of earth. 
Brighter than when the Iris glows. 
Or gems of cavern'd birth. 

Ah ! yes, and in those heaven-lit skies, 
Wide cux'ling round that chrystal height, 
E'en now my parent proudly flies, 
Exulting in the day-star's hght — 

Ah ! would that they had let me fly 
To hover o'er my country's hosts, 
And scream the trump of \TLctory, 
For now Hispania's flag is furled. 
Forever in the Western world, 
Morillos sought his native shore, 
To know UUoa's towers no more. 



THE BATTLE OF THE BORODINO. 



EVENING ON THE PLAINS OF MOSKWA. 



This most sanguinary of modern battles, was fought between the French 
Grand Army under Napoleon, and that of the Russians under Koutousoff, 
with nearly similar numbers of men. 

The battle commenced witli the roar of 2000 pieces of cannon. It was 
most obstinately contested. The loss of the French, who remained masters 
of the field, was 30,000 men killed and wounded ; that of the Russians, 
45,000 ;— 25,000 horses killed or disabled, added to the horrors of the bloody 
scene. 

Tke transient and eventful day, 

Was fading rapidly away, 

And now the dim and sulph'rous cloud. 

That formed the battle's thunder shroud, 

Far stretched along the stormy sky, 

Above the plains of Muscovy. 

The battle ceased, and all was still 
On the wide plain — o'er wood and hill, 
And valley of the rushing stream, 

Not an alarum gun was fired, 
Nought but their twinkling lances-gleam. 
Told that tlie northern host retired. 
- - 19 



20 THE BATTLE OF THE BORODINO. 

A glow of red and fitful light 

Was lingering in the horizon west, 
And lit the curtains of the night, 
Around the Day-star's place of rest. 
The length'ning lines of watchfires rose, 
The wearied armies sought repose ; 
The soldier stretched upon the soil, 
Courted oblivion of his toil. 
Upon the morning of that day, 
The far-responding reveille 
Had summoned in embattled line, 
The leagued nations of the Rhine. 

The impulse of one mighty mind 
Had led those glittering legions forth, 

And bade them seek in realms afar, 
'Neath the proud turrets of the north, 
The glory and the boon of war. 

There moved the phalanx of the brave, 
Far heaving as the ocean wave ; 

On their proud frontlets you might trace, 

Adown the far historic page. 
The character of many a race. 

The chivalry of many an age. 
The sons of sires whom Caesar led ; 

The Lithuanian and the Goth, 
Were marching with a measured tread. 



THE BATTLE OP THE BORODINO. 21 

In the same mighty sabaoth, 
Beside the noblest youth of France — 
All sharers of the same romance. 

There was young recklessness of life, 

And lofty fearlessness of eye, 
That gloried in the fiercest strife, 

Nor cared, as heroes live, to die; 
And there, the veteran's war-wrought form, 

The soldier of Marengo's field. 
Inured to . battle and to storm. 
Of lion-heart unused to yield. 

That soldier whose chivalrous youth 

Had braved the Arab's whirl- wind lance, 
Still follows here with changeless truth. 
The yet ascending star of France. 
Amid his chosen chiefs of war. 

Napoleon from a height surveyed 
The mighty masses of the Czar, 

In countless density arrayed. 
And said, as rose the cloudless sun, 
" ' Twas thus, — when Austerlitz was won — 
Soldiers ! ! ! — your hoary age shall tell 
Your father's cottage fires beside — 
Of those who fought, and those who fell 
Where yonder swells the battle tide." 



22 THE BATTLE OP THE BORODINO. 

' T'is eveniug now upon the plain, 

Arc strown the battle-drifted slain ; 
The tawny children of the Moor, 
The Calmuck, the Carinthian hoor. 
The belted Cossack of the Don, 
The plumed knight of Arragon, 
The emblem lion and the bear, 
Have met in death's stern conflict there : 
And many a youth of fearless eye, 
Beneath this dark and storm-swept sky, 
Reclines upon the turf — to die. 
Still o'er the soldier's dying hour. 
Memory sustains her magic power, 
And lights the flickering lamp of life, 
As thouo-h its streams were fresh and rife — 
For each has left a vacant hearth — 
His loves, the valley of his birth. 
His altar, and his childhood's home. 
The kindling of a mother's eye. 
When lust of conquest bade him roam. 
To march beneath a distant sky. 
The peasant of the winding Rhine, 

Has wandered from his vine-wrought bowers; 
The shepherd of the Appennine 

Has left his flock, his mountain flowers. 
Yon dresser of the Olive grove. 
Has torn him from his plighted love, — 



THE BATTLE OP THE BORODINO. 



23 



Upon Italia's hills afar, 
She gazes on the evening star, 
And tunes for him the sweet guitar. 
But her sad constancy is vain. 
That youth will ne'er return again. 



When the last rallying charge of horse 
Spurred madly on ; o'er many a corse. 
His form was crushed — upon his brow. 
The dews of death, are falling, now : 
Ere yet the coming dawn of day. 
Shall wake again the reveille — 
His life's last impulse will be o'er. 
He'll hear the bugle's note no more; 
He may not meet his faithful maid 
Beneath the bowering myrtle's shade — 
Siberia's ravens riot here. 
In gathered flights, the wintry year, 
And ere the far return of spring. 
His bones are bleached and glistening. 

But soon the sun will light again. 

The battle on this reeking plain ; 
Italia's gayest, bravest knight. 
The wildest meteor of the flight, 
Leads on his clouds of prancing steeds. 
His dreamers of chivalrous deeds ; 



24 THE BATTLE OF THE BORODINO. 

The farthest banners as they float 
Shall tremble to his trumpet note, 
And seas of nodding plumes shall wave 
To the firm footfall of the brave. 
Yet onward ! 'neath the northern sky 
Gallia's impetuous eagles fly, 
Where coldly shines the pivot-star, 
O'er the bronzed towers of the Czar. 
But thence — those eagles shall be driven. 
By the dread tempest-winds of heaven ; 
For they shall meet a fiercer foe. 

E'en than the desert-nurtured men, 
And their proud bearers shall lie low, 
Entomb'd in wastes of wolf-traced snow. 

Amid the pageants of man's hour, 
The war trump holds terrific power ; 
But truly there are prouder fields, 
And nobler boon than conquest yields. 



TO A WEE WHIN STANE. 

In Imitation of the Domestic Poetry of Scotland. 

Wee sliapeless bit of auld wliin stane, 

I^yin' untented on the lea, 
Thou had amaist toVe brought me doou, 

An' dirl'd my knee. 



Thou's broken on my reverie, 

Daundrin' alang, 
Sae now I'm gaun to mak o' thee, 

A careless sang. 



In troth, thou looks baith rough an aul', 
Thou's surely lain for mony a year. 

Ere yonner burnie 'gan to l^rawl, 
Or bonnie gowan bluiket here. 



25 



26 T O A W E E W IT I N S T A N E . 

Ere Adam's froward generation 

Were made o' clay; 
Or tlie briglit lamp of a' creation 

Had lit tlie day. 

Wlia now can tell wliat great con^^^lLsion, 
Has reft tliee frae yon tow'rin rock, 

Whether 'twas Noah's flood's revulsion, 
Or thunder shock 

Thou's stooden mony a summer shower, 
An' mony a weary winter's storm, 

Fu' mony a wee Lit daisy flower. 
Has bloom'd aside thy rugged form. 

When the auld forest flourished here. 
The autumn leaves wad rustle Ijy thee. 

An' aftentimes the wolf an' deer, 

Hae left tlieii* banes and hornies nigh thee. 

Guid night, my staney. I maun gang. 
The stars are peepin' owre the brae, 

I'll mak an enden to my sang, 
I m.nuniia linger on my way. 



TOAWEEWHINSTANE. 27 

Aiblius ere laiig some aue may tak tliee, 
Wlieii yonuer liigkroad wants a help, 

An' set some buirdly cMel to crack tliee, 
Wlia'll smasli tliee wi' a cruel skelp. 

Aiblins some eident yontk may poucli tkee, 

Ee'en tkee ^vi^ a pawkie look, 
An' iu liis nackle closet couch tliee, 

Or write about thee in a book, 

The various fates o' stanes an' men. 
The future tliou nor I maun ken, 

The lear we've got frae mother natur. 
Is unco sma' 

But then we hae a kind Creator, 
Wha mad' us a'. 



THE RAVEN. 



Saepe sinistra cava praedisit ab ilice coruiz. 



SCEXE NEAR PIIILADELPinA. 

Augury, or tlie art of foretelling future events, by the flight, 
cries, or motions of birds, descended from the Chaldeans to the 
Greeks, thence to the Etrurians, and from thence it was trans- 
mitted to the Romans. The crafty legislators of these celebrated 
nations, from a deep knowledge of human nature, made supersti- 
tion a principal feature of their religious ceremonies ; and the 
Romans having consecrated the Raven to Apollo, its flight was 
observed with the greatest solemnity, and its tones and inflections 
of voice were noted with a precision which intimated a belief in 
its infallible prescience. Even in modern nations we have self- 
constituted interpreters of omens, whose predictions have been 
received with religious respect by the credulous multitude. 

ni-omen'd bird, wliose sombre coat, 
And flapping ^ving, and boding note, 
Ruled ^\dt]i a dark, mysterious power, 
Old Latium in lier proudest hour. 

28 



THERAVEN. 29 

Herald of ill! to tliee was given, 

Prescience of impending liate, 
The awful retribute of lieaven, 

Tlie darkest messages of fate. 

Oft from some ancient Elm, or Oak, 
By some centennial liglitnings riven, 

Wliose giant branches, blanclied and broke, 
Still peered amid tlie mnds of lieaven; 

Thou shrieked to Mantua's sire and son, 

An omen, that his sands were run — 
The odors of the mouldering slain. 
Far wafted from the battle-plain. 
Would oft allure thy wayward flight, 
To grace the augur's mystic rite, 
The wisest chieftains boldly led. 
Where'er thy fluttering fancy sped. 

And Rome's o^m Caesars learned from thee, 

The prestige of their destiny. 

But Superstition's earlier hour, 
Has lost some portion of its power. 
We will not ask thee to predict, 
What woes the future must inflict, 



30 T H E R A V E N. 

If tlioii wilt tell witli gi'apliic truth, 
The memoirs of thy early youth. 



My sires were not of Mantua's groves, 

Where the oltl Tiber winds along, 
They listened not to Virgil's loves. 

His musings of immortal song. 
My ancient and unstoried race. 

Were nurtured in the western woods, 
And chose their fitful dwelling-place, 
Where old Shanunga^' j)ours his floods 
Benignant Nature o'er these shores, 
Profusely strewed her ample stores. 
And here of erst they used to fly, 
Disporting in the evening sky, 
When far-spread forests like the seas. 
Were w^aving in the autumn breeze. 

The oak tree of my eyrie stood, 
A patriarch mid the younger wood, 
A forest race, now all at rest. 
Or exiled to the farthest West, 

* Tlio Aboriginal name of the Delaware River. 



THERAVEN. 31 

And countless herds of tranquil deer, 
When I was fledged were sporting here — 
A nation of an hundi-ed bands, 
Then hunted o'er these shaded lands, 
'Camp'd by the fountams of their sires, 
And gather'd to their council fires — 

From heights by rivers cleft in twain. 
To where the forests front the main. 

How those primeval forests fell, 
I may not, and I would not tell, 
There scarcely now remains a trace. 
To mind you of that mighty race, 

And now if o'er the scene I fly, 

'Tis only in the upper sky, 
Yet well I know 'mid spires and smoke. 
The spot where stood my eyrie oak. 
Yes I can e'en replace again. 
Those woodlands as I knew them then, 
Those verdant scenes and herds of deer, 
That used to browze so calmly here. 



THE CREATION OF LIGHT. 



And God said : "Let there be Light,— and there was light." 



Light is certainly tlie most magnificent prototype which physical creation 
affords of the onmiprcsence of Deity, and of the unity of that self-existent 
universal energy, which, while it " spreads undivided," and " operates 
unspent" in the worlds of matter and of mind, is continually revealing to 
intelligent creation the infinity and benignity of creation's Author. 

This sublimated ethereal substance, according to the inspired Hebrew 
historian, was spoken into existence by the first fiat of the Eternal, and 
originated in the incipient act of creative energy on rude and darkling 
chaos. Holding as it were an intermediate relation to matter and im- 
material existence, and triumphing in the inconceivable velocity and infinite 
extent of its emanations over time and space, it may be contemplated as a 
sort of angelic messenger from the throne of the Omnipotent to the bomidless. 
ness of universal creation. 

Huygcns, a Dutch astronomtr of the seventeenth century, suggested that 
there might be "stars at such an immense distance, that their light had not 
yet traveled down to us since the Creation," 

This hypothesis has not been disproved ; it is in fact sustained by the 
observations which the elder Hcrschel and the more modern astronomers, 
by means of their gigantic telescopes, have been able to make in the remote 
ultra.planctary space. 

The idea of Huygens pictures but a solitary pencil of light, traveling from 
some immensely distant star for six thousand years, at the vdocity of twelve 
millions of miles per minute, but not yet having reached us, to make its 
origin visible at our Earth. It is only generalizing this idea to believe, 
that the first created light of our sun, and tliat of every other star in the 
firmament, still extends itself in all directions into illimitable space; main. 

32 D 



TnECREATIONOFLIGlIT. 33 

taining, in all its wondrous inter.radiations, the distinct proportionate visi- 
bility of its innumerable suns, at any and every point of infinite space where 
the eye of an observer or the lens of a telescope can be imagined to exist. 



Instant, o'er heaven, from every sun and star, 
Flash'cl tlie centrifugal ethereal Light; 

The planets glittered in their paths afar, 
And darkness vanished at the dazzling sight. 

II. 

And thence far— far that darkness hastes away. 
Where our sun's starlight da^Tis in boundless space ; 

And many a distant sun's primeval ray 

Toward us is speeding on its pauseless race. 

III. 

A hundred millionth part of Solar light 
Illumes our planets in their kindred race; 

All, save this fraction of its radiance bright 
Glances beyond them into boundless space. 

IV. 

What is our little planet's day and night? 
The day, that dazzles human eyes with o-lare 



34 THE CREATION OF LIGHT. 

Checks not tlie interglance of starry liglit — 
It beams incessantly forever tliere. 

V. 

We roll into Earth's shadow; and 'tis night 
To us — our side the orb is from the sun; 

One half's in shadow always — one in light; 
Evening and morning since the world begun. 

VI. 

One half in day and summer light 
The eternal changeful seasons turn ; 

One half in shade and winter night 

The varying landscapes freeze and burn. 

VII. 

Myriads of sunbeams interweave their light, 
Throughout the boundless distance of the sky; 

And gem the spangled canopy of night, 

Where'er the wanderer turns his thoughtful eye. 

VIII. 

The furthest starbeam's telescopic flight. 
Direct, unerring from its centre runs ; 



THE CREATION OF LIGHT. 35 

Tlireads tlie vast maze of inter-radiant liglit 
Athwart the day-soui'ce of a thousand suns. 

IX. 
On every side each distant sun displays, 
Across the dayhght of each other sun, 
Its radiant si^here of still expanding rays, 
Wideidng and widening e'en suice time begun. 

X. 

The feeblest starbeam in its furthest flight 

Across the dazzling day-fires of the sky, 
Truly reveals its centre and its source 

Unscorched and changeless to the gazer's eye. 

XI. 
E'en when the student swings great Herschel's len's, 

Measming m mighty tracts concentric space; 
Each telescopic sun his vision kens 

Further and feebler has its certaui place. 
XII. 

In Cancer, or in Leo, as we roU, 

One starry concave fills the midnight au-; 

Whether we \dew the Zodiac or the Pole, 
The constellated suns of space are there. 



36 T II E C R E A T T O N OF LIGHT. 

XIII. 

As fades a stone's splash m the waves around, 
Tliougli suns may darken at liglit's starting place ; 

Wliile ages roll, and cycles wlieel tlieir bound, 
Light speeds, centrifugal, its onward race. 

XIV. 

Heaven's vast macMne defies the oj)tician's art, 
Naught but Omniscience its depths may scan, 

Wliat man may know is but a little part. 
All unrevealed to him the glorious plan. 

XV. 

Author of All! Almighty, yet unseen, 

Wondi'ous, surpassing wonder Thou must be, 

Thou veil'st thyself beyond the starry scene. 
The Hght thou mad'st reveals thy works, not thee. 

XVI. 

Thy Omnipresence shrouds itself in light. 

Where its bright rays illume the fm^thest sky; 

The tiny shadow of Earth's httle night 
Hides nothing from thine ever-seeing eye. 



THE PEWEE FLY-CATCHEU. 



The Pewee Flycatcher, (Muscicapa nunciola of Wilson,) arrives 
in Pennsylvania, the earliest of migratory songsters, while the 
woods are yet leafless, and leaves us late in the autumn. Its 
cheering simple notes become grave and plaintive with the declin- 
ing year. It loves rivulets and ravines, and builds beneath pro- 
jecting rocks or under the eaves of unfrequented dwellings. Its 
migrations fippear to be, and probably in common with those of 
many other of our birds are, made during the night. 

" The notes of the Pewee (says Wilson,) like those of the Blue- 
bird are pleasing, not for any melody they contain, but from the 
ideas of spring and returning verdure, with all the sweets of this 
lovely season, which are associated with his simple, but lively 
ditty. Towards the middle of June he becomes nearly silent; 
and late in the fall gives us a few farewell and melancholy 
repetitions, that recall past imagery, and make the decayed and 
withered face of nature appear still more melancholy." 



Sweet little songster ! once again, 
We liear tliee warbling in tlie glen. 
Oft as the measured j^eriocls nm, 
That lift our ])lanet to the sun; 

37 



38 T H E P E W E E. 

^Mieu Flora wlieels lier verdant car, 

To follow 'neatli tlie solar star, 

And Zepliyr froDi lier garland tlirows, 

The snowdrop 'mid tlie wasting snows : 

Wlien Winter to tlie arctic zone. 

The axis of liis clirjstal tlirone. 

Obedient to tlie god of day, 

Slirinks from beneath his brightening ray. 

Yet dares to linger cold and di^ear, 

To check the promise of the year. 

From fields of ever-blooming flowers, 
From heavens wliere the palm-tree towers, 
AATien Natnre to the northern groves, 
Summons the warblers to theii' loves, 
Fu'st lierald of the woodland clioir, 

Thon plmn'st thy little active wing. 
To bear thee through the wastes of air. 

And hover o'er the van of spring. 

The same benign instinctive liglit. 
That calls thy pilgrimage from far. 

Befriends tliee on the breeze of night, 
Unliglited by the moon or star. 



THEPEWEE. 39 

Until tliy native rocks among, 

Soft tlirilling tliro' tlie budding grove, 

We liail tliy unobtrusive song, 
All tranquil as the voice of love. 

Ere yet tlie summer's deepest shade. 
Shall darken o'er thy native glade, 
Around thee, thro' the cheerful wood. 
Shall sport a little chu'ping brood. 
Intent on youthful wing to fly. 
And follow to the boundless sky. 

Swift as the vernal breezes blow, 

The summer's fleeting moons shall roll. 
And chequered autumn soon shall throw, 

Its hues of feeling o'er the soul, 
But every day shall be to thee. 

As happy as the blooming sprmg. 
Shall bring its undiminished glee. 

And tii'eless buoyancy of wing. 

And e'en when Autumn rude and di^ear. 
Has seared the beauty of the year; 
When prouder songsters far away. 
Have followed the retiring ray, 



♦'^ 



40 T H E P E W E E. 

Yet shall the woods and rocks prolong 
The plamtive accents of thy song. 

Till Nature from thy summer home, 
Kindest of guardians, bids thee roam. 
Calls thee to fly where Flora leads, 
O'er sunny isles and verdant meads. 
And in some far off flowery land, 
To join again the tuneful band. 
To plume again thy moulted wing. 
And chase the circling car of spring. 

Sweet bii'd! may thy glad warblings be 
A soothing and dehght to me 

Still, — though the pauseless laj^se of time, 
Shall dim the dreams that lure me now. 

And autumn of returuless prime. 
Shall trace its shadows on my brow ; 
I know thee well, thy cheerful lays. 
In the bright spring-time, of my days. 
Could all their loveliness impart. 
To my yet free and joyous heart. 
And wake the gayest buoyancy 
Of happy, thoughtless infancy. 



THE PMIRIE. 



Twilight eurtain'd the far-water'd plains of the west, 
The landscape grew dim to the wanderer's eye, 

All was still where the prairie-bird guarded his nest, 
The sun's path was red o'er the place of his rest, 

And the vapours that loom'd on the verge of the sky 
Were bright as the hunter's dream'd-land of the blest. 

The bones of the bison were bleaching around, 

The herds had lain down 'mid the wild-flowers' bloom, 

And Heaven's wide concave seem'd vacant of sound 

Save where some lone prowler's fierce howl rent the air; 

The breath of the desert was , fraught with perfume, 
And the brief fly of summer in gladness was there. 

I had scaled the steep clifl" o'er the eddying wave. 

Whence the love-martyr'd maid, in her beauty had leapt, 

And encamped on the spot where the fair and the brave 
In the dust of the desert all silently slept, 

Where the Osage had dug for their chieftain a grave, 
Where their hazel-eyed matrons in madness had wept. 

41 



42 T H E P R A I R I E. 

The still Heavens glittcr'd witli many a star, 
The lone dewy desert grew darker and drear, 

I shrunk 'neath my robe, for my home was afar, 

And my heart's sombre musings were blended with fear; 

Kind sleep sealed my eyes, such as wanderers know 
When the lonely are blessed with oblivion of woe. 



Deep visions stole o'er me with tragic-wrought power, 

Like glad sunset groupings of years that have past, 
Restoring the magic of many an hour 

Too fleeting to tell, and too lovely to last. 
Proud races of chieftains, their loves and their rage 

On the prairie's vast outline burst bright on my eye, 
Like the song-storied glories of earth's early age. 

Like a vast pictured legend portray'd on the sky. 



The season's rich dramas of bloom and of change, 

Each rife in its redolent beauty and prime. 
Grave shadow and light to the bison's wide range, 

And varied the still pauseless fleeting of time. 
The winter's hunt scenes o'er the far-drifted snow, 

The fawn's happy frolics, 'mid spring's blossoms past, 
The flower-fly's flight in the summer-sun's glow. 

And autumn's sweet songsters the lonely and last. 



THE PRAIRIE. 43 

The hunter's gay smiles on his fond mother's breast, 

His nurture, his gambols in life's happy morn, 
The spells of his manhood's impassioned behest, 

The flash of his eye on his battle-steed borne. 
The victor's shrill joy, the still death of the foe. 

The feats of the brave, and the right of the strong, 
Swell'd my heart with high pulses of joy and of woe, 

But no prairie minstrel has told them in song. 



Here swept o'er the wild grass the whirlwinds of war, 

Here the vulture for ages has nourished his brood, 
On the flesh of the proud and the fearless of yore, 

'Till the clifi"s of Missouri were dyed with their blood. 
And here, when the autumn-moon's tranquillest gleams 

Gave wilder enchantment to beauty's kind glance. 
The glad hunter, 'tranced in his heart's dearest dreams, 

Seem'd to reap in life's fancies the joys of romance. 

'Twas morning — I woke on the wild pasture space. 
Where the vast prairie spreads in its grandeur alone ; 

Around me, far peering, the turf-mounds were strown, 
Where the mighty had heaped them a burial place, 

The lone lasting record of many a race. 



THE TOMB OF WILSON. 



On the shores of the Delaware, within the southern suburbs of Phil add- 
phia, is the " Old Swedes Church," with its neat parsonage.house and gar. 
den. It was built in the year 1700, on the site of a temporary wooden one 
erected in the forest by the Swedish emigrants. In its cemetery, Wilson, 
the American Ornithologist, is interred. He had requested to be buried in 
some rural sjrot, sacred to peace and solitude, where the birds might sing 
over his grave. That spot is marked by a simple marble, which records 
the date of his birth and death. 



The grass is green and tlie plane-trees bloom 
' Round the ancient kirk and the humble tomb, 

O'er Wilson's honor'd grave ; 
And the passage-bird from the orange-groves, 
To the summer scene of his youth and loves, 
Has borne him down from the heights of air, 
To warble his wonted requiem there. 
But still and cold is that heart of fire, 
It thrills not as erst to the sono-ster choir. 



44 



THETOMBOPWILSON. 45 

Sainted student of Nature! tliy relics repose, 

Far away from the land which is proud of thy birth, 
Where the thistle blooms high o'er the vales of the rose, 
And the mountain breeze nurtures the brave of the earth, 
Where cottier's hearth and castled tower, 

Have tales of love and chivalry. 
Scenes which could wake the mightiest power 
That lives in Highland minstrelsy. 

Ere her ain plough-boy bard had sung. 

Amid his bonny braes and rills. 
Or Campbell's deathless lyre was strung. 

On Caledonia's heathered hills. 

Upon his peasant-mother's breast. 
Nature had marked a darling boy, 

And conscious of his high behest. 
Beheld him with maternal joy. 

Soon she who gave the prattler birth, 

Left him in infancy to roam, 
Left to the wilderness of earth 

An orphan from his parent home. 

But not the dull routine of toil, 

The shuttle's shrill monotony, 
Or ills of penury could spoil. 

His spirit's high-wrought destiny. 



46 T H E T O jM B O r AV I L S O N. 

The love of freedom, and of truth, 

Inspiring genius, bore him on; 
Gentlest of Scotia's gallant youth, 

Nature's devoted chosen son. 

His fearless spirit spurned the wrong. 
His country's tyrants had designed, 

And dealt them in his satire-song, 
The execration of mankind. 

Hap'ly, a friendly clime had risen, 
Beyond the darkly rolling wave. 

The brightest spot that beacons heaven, 
Home of the exile, and the brave. 

He sought Columbia's distant shore. 
Where erst a pilgrim band had prest, 

When Penn his bloodless banner bore 
To the dark forests of the West. 

There Nature in her frolic moods. 

Had strown her sweetest forms and flowers, 

And bloom'd o'er boundless solitudes. 
Lovely, as in her Orient bowers. 

And there, as now, the passage-bird. 
Had sung his summer song and flown, 

Gay, as the hunter-race who heard. 
Through ages, noteless and unknown. 



THE TOMB OP WILSON. 

But now there came a gifted child, 
An exile o'er the broad blue sea, 

To hear the songsters of the wild, 
And breathe the air of liberty. 

He saw the cheerful choir whose loves, 
Enraptur'd song, and summer home. 

Surround us 'mid our fields and groves. 
Till fading autumn bids them roam. 

And all those mightier tribes that soar. 
From the bleak icebergs of the north. 

Above the restless ocean's shore. 

When winter's empire sends them forth. 

Kind Nature to his docile heart. 

Taught the enchantment of the scene. 

And gave him power to impart, 
Such as to mortal had not been. 

His words have pictur'd to the sight. 

The rival falcons in the sky. 
And lit in their unmeasured light, 

The fadeless dreams of Poesy. 

He rambled where the "wandering stream," 
Mirrors its own primeval woods. 

And where beneath their rainbow gleam. 
Whelm Niagara's ocean-floods. 



47 



48 T n E T M B O P W I L S N. 

He climb'd the Appalacliian's height, 
Where lingers the eternal snow, 

And gazed with wild and proud delight, 
O'er all the forest world below. 

He launched a lone deserted soul. 
Far floating on the rapid's breast. 

Where the descending rivers roll. 
The gathered waters of the West. 

He marked the pigeons' myriad flight. 
That fill'd the horizon broad and blue. 

Till his eye wearied with the sight. 
And twilight hid them from his view. 

There, by the lonely leaf-strown grave, 
Where lost lamented Lewis lies, 

He wept as friendship weeps the brave. 
Ere it may join them in the skies. 

But now the mourner weeps no more. 
He sleeps beneath yon humble tomb, 

His wild-wood wanderings are o'er, 

He heeds not Spring's returning bloom. 

He died, as genius oft shall die, 
While sordid passions bear control, 

But never shall the sun or sky, 
Glow on a warmer, nobler soul. 



THETO MB OF WILSON. 49 

The brightest, loveliest orbs of heaven, 

Shine on us for the shortest date, 
To brightest spirits oft is given, 

The comet's swift-returning fate. 

While Egypt's slowly mouldering stone, 

Shall look on nations yet to be, 
And tell of generations gone 

To races passing ceaselessly. 

While Homer's numbers shall prolong, 
His country's dear and deathless name, 

E'en if his rapture-breathino- sono-. 

Wakes not a Phoenix from her flame. 

While our own emblem-bird shall fly, 
Serenely in his native sky. 
And the broad breeze o'er earth and sea 
Wafts the proud banner of the free. 
So long, illustrious shade! thy name 
Shall brighten on the scroll of fame- 
While Nature's onward course shall bring 
Again the bloom, and birds of spring; 
Each lonely note or song of o-lee 
At dawn and eve shall tell of thee. 



THE HETREAT ON THE BERESIM. 



The passage of the Bereslua by the remnant of the French 
G-rand Army, on its disastrous retreat from Moscow, in the winter 
of 1812, was opposed by the Russian artillery and cavalry, and 
was effected in the midst of a tempest, with severe fighting 
on both sides of the river. The loss of the French was dreadful. 
It is reported that when the thaw permitted, 36,000 bodies were 
found in the Beresina. 

It was altogether one of the wildest, most desperate, and most 
horrible scenes which war can exhibit. 



The glare tliat lit tlie nortliern sky, 

Upon tlie raging tempest driven, 
Diffused its lustre far and high 

Where Moscow's fires arose to heaven; 
And bursting on the noon of night 

Eeveal'd the bivouac's cur\Hng hue. 
And dimm'd the watchfires' paler light 

Where camp'd the armies of the Rhine. 



THE RETREAT ON THE BERESINA. 51 

The Gallic eagle smootli'cl liis plumes 
Above tlie birtli-place of tlie Czars, 

Tlie sacred temple of their tombs, 
The castled eyrie of their wars. 

Thence, gazing o'er the billowy flame. 

Napoleon fix'd his restless eye; 
'Twas the proud crisis of his fame. 
The haughty monarch heaved a sigh. 
Wild and unfathomed feeling there 
Usurp'd the impulse of his soul. 
Sated ambition, glory, care. 

The madness of supreme control — 
The past, since fortune's wayward smile 
Had called him from his native isle 
To rule the spirits of his hour 
And wield the wand of pageant power, — 
The futm-e's dim and doubtful dream. 
Its promised triumphs, and its date. 
Came o'er him like a dazzlhig gleam 
Amid the gathering storms of fate. 

Fierce, lurid ruin, uncontrolled. 
Around the beetling Kremlin roll'd; 



52 THE RETREAT ON THE BERESINA. 

The soldier, liglited to tlie spoil, 

Revels in Russia's j^roudest halls, 
'Till wearied rapine yields to toil. 

And famine haunts the blackening walls, 
While inid her self-devoted fires 
Thunder old Moscow's falling spires. 



Stern destiny, whose reckless ken 

Is wont to dwell on scenes like these, 

The doom of empires and of men, 
Matures her terrible decrees. 



Homeward, reluctant, from afar 
The hero turns his gilded car; 
Around their demigod of war. 

Follow the nations' plumed tide. 
The chosen of chivaMc lore. 

The fiercest legions of his pride,- 
Trophies revered in olden time 

Roll onward 'mid the vast parade. 
And gorgeous spoils of every clime 
Bring up the length'ning cavalcade. 



THE RETREAT ON THE BERESINA. 53 

Eartli, and her annals, may not boast 
A miglitier or a braver host, — ■ 
There foremost tread that star-lit band 
Who nursed the eagles of their land — 
Soldiers of fortune and romance, 
Who bore above the Alpine snow. 
And barrier stream, and trenched foe. 
The victor-bird of France, 
And braved, 'mid Egypt's sand-swept seas. 
Beneath the tombs of centuries. 
The Moslem's reckless lance — 
And gayer bands of conscript youth. 

Trained in her matchless schools of war. 
Are gathered with devoted truth, 
By glory summoned from afar — 
When mid the rosy hght of morn, 
Upon the glacier echoes borne 

The stirring tocsin wildly rose. 
The music of the heifer-horn 

Falter'd upon St. Gothard's snows — 
War's syi'en-timiult from the vaies 
Breathed rapture on the mountain gales, 



54 THE RETREAT ON THE BERESINA. 

The liunter from tlie Oberland, 

The lierdsman of tlie green Valais 
'Neath the gay banner of his band 
To the far crusade tore away — 
And fau'er climes, where summer smiles, 

Where the perennial myrtle blooms, 
Where lovely woman most beguiles. 

Where cypress shrouds the Caesars' tombs. 
All sent theii* chosen legions forth 
To breast the ramparts of the north. 

Those banners of imperial France, 

On the same desolated track 
Whence rushed their desperate advance. 
Turn from resistless mnter — back. 
Around, the cautious Russian poured 

His countless serfs in marshalled bands ; 
And Asia sent her Cossack horde. 

Whose chargers swept the desert sands ; 
But not to these that host shall quail. 
Or battle storm, or soldier's grave — 
Those Scythians are of no avail. 

They bring not terror to the brave — 



THE RETREAT ON THE BERESINA. 55 

More cruel ministers of fate 

On tliat devoted liost await: 

Tlie freezing torrents treaclierous flow, 

Consuming famine and fatigue, 
Tlie bivouac of tlie sky and snow. 

The lingering march of many a league. 
Shall bring the gayest warriors there 
' To hopeless ruin and despair. 

In vain the coursers of the Rhme 
Enflank the bayonet's bristling line ; 
The cavalier whose bounding steed 

Once matchless where the clarion led, 
Had rush'd to many a daring deed 
O'er reeking ramparts of the dead, 

Must leave that faithful friend, to die — 

Proud sharer of his toils and pride, 
Whose famished form and faded eye 
Told him a tale that hope defied — 
His spirit yields to mightiest ills 
The cherished glory of his art, 
Rude, selfish desperation chills 
The wonted feeling of his heart. 



56 THE RETREAT ON THE EERESINA. 

Tliere as lie slowly sinks to die, 

E'en spite of liope's sustained control, 
Tlie struggling tril)ute of a sigh 

Bursts deeply from liis dauntless soul, 
As if lie cursed tlie luckless day 
Tliat called him to the wars, away 

From the bright valley of his youth, 

Home's, life's, affection's strongest ties, 
And his lov'd maiden's parting truth. 
Pledge of his mightiest energies. 

With haggard visage, grim and wan. 

Those victors of earth's proudest fields, 
'Mid endless snow-drifts flounder on, 

Wliile the strong pulse within them yields- 
Tlie speaking of each laurel'd brow. 

The bearing of each storm-blanch'd plume. 
Are stern and mute endurance now. 
Reckless of fate's severest doom — 
Before them, desert-tracts of snow 

And war-wi'ought ruin meet the eye, 
Around them yells the Tartar foe, 
Above them scowls the wintry sky — 



THE RETREAT ON THE BERESINA. 57 

Still glory's flickering meteor-star, 

Illumed that broken faltering band, 
And nerved the ii'on heart of war, 
Where yet the sacred legion bore 
The sullen eagles of their land. 

Still the shi'ill bugles' wildest power 
Recalls the pride of other years. 

And 'mid the horrors of the horn- 
Triumphs o'er present ills and fears. 

Plunging in Lithuania's woods, 
That famish'd, tempest-stricken horde. 
That wi'eck of mightiest armies pour'd, 
Engulfed 'mid fir-clad solitudes. 
Where Beresina's pauseless floods 
Rolled on, as if they scorned to know 
The nearer march of friend or foe. 
The fragile sm^face of the wave. 

And promptest skill of engineer, 
Give passage to the anxious brave, — . 
Behind, the Cossack's rude career 
O'erwhelms the rampart-squares of steel, 
Where in theii' still and stern array 



58 THE RETREAT ON THE BERESINA. 

Tlie lines of patient veterans kneel ; 
Tlie i'a\mie eclioes witli dismay, 
Darkness obscures tlie dreadful fray, 
Despair's instinctive, maniac power 
Has madden'd men unknown to cower; 

Urged by tke war-fiend's fiercest sound 
Those Stygian crowds infuiiate pour, 

Till tlie last bridge witli crasli profound 
Goes down — tlie gurgling waters close, 

While o'er the tempest's midnight roar. 
And the wide stiife of desperate foes. 
The deep death-groan of thousands rose. 

Morn dawns upon the freezing wave. 
Gorged with the corses of the l^rave. 

Vast darkening flights of bii'ds of prey 
Are shrieking o'er the scene by day. 
And when the moon's cold silvery beam 
Again has lit that fatal stream. 
Gaunt groups of wolves are fiercely prowling, 

Round the abandoned soldier there. 
And like infernal demons howling 

'Mid desolation and despair. 



THE RETREAT ON THE BERESINA. 59 

'Tis o'er — some lonely willows weep, 
Far in a sterile wave-worn isle, 

O'er him whose dreaded legions sleep 
From frozen Moskwa to the Nile. 



But from that far and lonely grave, 
Back to the lovely shores of France, 

They've borne his ashes o'er the wave, 
To rest amid her cherished brave. 



EOB LINK OH BOB-LINCOLN. 



Tliis truly migratory bird (the Dolichonyx Oryzivorus of Linnaeus, the 
Emheriza Oryzivora of Wilson, and Icterus Agripennis of Bonaparte,) is called 
the Boblink in New England, the Reed-bird in Pennsylvania, the Rice-bird in 
the Carolinas, and the Butter-bird in the West Indies. It winters, says Wil- 
son, from Mexico to the Amazon and the Equator. It breeds in New England? 
New York, the Canadas, and Labrador, from the forty -second to the fifty- 
fourth degree of north latitude ; so that its annual migrations, being nearly 
equal to tlie forty-seven degrees of the sun's declination, place it in the same 
relation to the sun's rays at the winter as at the Summer solstice. About the 
end of the second week in August it descends from the hills of New England, 
upon Pennsylvania, and especially upon the islands and shores of the Dela. 
ware river, where the seeds of the wild rice are then ripening. Here it soon 
becomes exceedingly fat, is sought after by city sportsmen, and immense num- 
bers are killed during their short stay. About the second week of September 
when the first frosts occur, it migrates south to the rice fields of Carolina and 
Georgia, where it participates in the harvest of the planters. The middle of 
November finds it among the Guinea-grass of Cuba and Jamaica. 



Upon New Hampshire's grassy hills 
My cradle was a tussock nest, 

My lullaby the murmuring rills; 

And there my infant dreams were blest 

With visions of June's brightest hours, 

And butter-cups and clover-flowers; 
GO 



T H E B O B L I N K. 61 

And there my father's simple song 
Was " happy as the day was long ;" 
I cannot tell, you cannot think, 
How bravely there he sang Boblink ! 
How gay he sang Boblink, Boblink! 
Link-link, Boblink ! — Boblink- Link-link ! 

While yet the sunlight's strongest hour 
Shed o'er those hills its genial power, 
From day to day we nestlings grew, 
And when the mowers struck, we flew : 
Dreadful destruction came to pass 
O'er all those lovely flowers and grass ; 
And when the men and maidens came 

To spread and rake the fragrant hay. 
You would not know the scene the same ; 

Vast ruin happens in a day ! 
I cannot tell, you cannot think. 
How sad my father sang Boblink ! 
How mournfully he sang Boblink ! 

Swiftly our orb's far zodiacs run. 
That lift and lower the glorious sun, 
And soon the slow-declining light 
Fell feebly on my native height ; 
And summer's scenes, and gayest flowers 
Gave place to Autumn's sober hours. 



62 T H E B B L I N K. 

Eternal instinct's guardian care, 
That guides tlie wanderers of the air, 
Called all the passage-birds away, 
Impelled us, though we longed to stay. 
The warblers in their native groves, 

Tlie web-foots by old ocean's shore, 
Ballied their little ones and loves. 

To trust the tracliless air once more. 

Although our native fields were bright, 

And August flowers were blooming nigh, 
Our tindred joined the general flight — 

Glad pilgrims to a warmer sky; 
We knew that nature's harvests there 
Were ripe for every bird of air. 
On the wide bounties of her store 
Trusted our patriarch-birds of yore ; 

Our beaux were not in summer dress ; 
They sang their plaintive autumn notes, 

Not those the rattle-caps express 
When love incites their merry throats; 
So sad their hearts, you would not think 
They ever sang Boblink — link-link ! 

Bright summer ripens many a seed, 
But none more luscious than the reed 
That robes the islands, and broad shores. 



THE BOBLINK. 63 

Where to the sea Shanunga pours; 

Thither our countless flights repair, 

Like starlings blackening all the air. 

'T is a vast festival ! the sportsmen pour 

A rolling volley on the shore; 

Falcon's are there, and all- devouring man 

Feasts on fat reed birds* as on ortolan. 

Till cool September bids our millions fly 

To the wai"m mantle of a sunnier sky ; 

Then o'er Savannah's fertile delta spread, 

The rice-plant waves its many-feeding head ; 

Your Boblink-Rice-bird takes a bounteous share, 

And smooths his plumage in a genial air, 

Till guardian Nature, that protects us all, 

" When heroes perish, or when sparrows fall," 

Still bids us follow toward the southern zone. 

And make the sun's bright journey all our own. 

O'er " lands of flowers," and o'er the tropic isles 

Where all unblanched, perennial verdure smiles; 

High o'er the sea-boy through the crimson air. 

From isle to isle our myriad swarms repair. 

Where Amazon's luxuriant shores are rife, 

And earth's bright girdle teems with joyous life. 



t The Rced.bird is allied to, but is a distinct species'^from, the Ortolan of 
Europe and Ortolan of Asia, which birds, in their simultaneous migration are 
cotemporaneously feeding on the rice-fields of Lombardy and of the Canton 
Province. 



64 THE BOBLINK. 

There, while stern winter's deadliest rigors blow, 
Our native hills deep-whelmed in drifted snow, 
Your Boblink-pilgrim, till life's span is run, 
Worships and migrates with the varying sun; 
Until the day-star in his course on high 
Wheels his proud chariot in the southern sky, 
And strengthening sunlight on our native hills 
Wakes from their winter sleep the frozen rills, 
And calls the warblers from the orange groves 
To the spring scenery of their summer loves. 
We take Shanunga's meadows by the way. 
And there we'll greet you on the tenth of May ; 
Our beaux and belles in summer feather, 

Our mated birds gallant and glorious, 
We'll sing for love and lovely weather. 

And make the budding groves uproarious. 

We stay not; for we seek again 
Each his own native mountain glen ! 
And there, when some kind bird will share 
Our fondest loves and parent care. 
Near the same spot we'll build a nest. 
Where erst our infant dreams were blest: 
And when the mower whets his scythe. 
He'll listen to your Boblink's song : 
Earth cannot boast a bird more blithe. 

When June's gay hours are bright and long. 



''U. 



LEJa'Si 



